


baby please come home

by wastingyourarrows



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, F/M, M/M, Past Violence, Reunions, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29463573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wastingyourarrows/pseuds/wastingyourarrows
Summary: It's been a few years since Ned and Robb died, and the Stark kids are home for Christmas again. By chance, Sansa encounters a maligned figure from Robb's past, and must choose whether to turn him away or try to heal together.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8
Collections: Wintersend 2020 & 2021





	baby please come home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kitkatkaylie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/gifts).



A snowflake flew into Sansa’s eye and she blinked, a tear blooming next to her nose, out of cold, not emotion. She spun around on her skates, facing backwards and crossing her feet over one another to move in a circle that turned into a spiral, snaking smaller and smaller until she pulled her arms in for a backwards parallel spin. Air whipped past her face, a cold sting she was so used to it was a comfort. The frozen blue surface of the lake and the deep green pine trees surrounding it blurred together in her vision as she spun, and she watched them rematerialize into distinct objects as she slowed to a stop, her arms raised above her head, performing for nobody. She did one last tiny circle with both feet on the ground, then continued skating forward, lazily weaving from side to side and watching the tops of the trees on either side of her wave gently in the winter wind.  
The lake was a rough oval shape, about three times as long at its longest point as it was wide. Sansa could skate from her parents’ house’s dock for ten minutes in a straight line before reaching another shore, and since she was three years old standing shakily the first time Robb had tied skates to her feet, she’d spent days’ worth of time on the lake every winter. Doing pirouettes in circles around Robb and Jon’s games of shinny, getting in the way of Arya’s stickhandling practice, and teaching Bran to play sledge hockey were among her most indelible memories.  
It was a crisp day, but not particularly cold to Sansa, who would have guessed the temperature at ten degrees below zero. She had left her coat and scarf at home but kept on her mittens patterned with wolves’ heads tucked into her sleeves and her white woolen turtleneck pulled up to her chin. She’d abandoned wearing a helmet at thirteen, despite her mother’s disapproval, and in its place she wore a toque, pulled down over her ears. It was snowing harder now, and a film of snow was beginning to accumulate under her skates. She sped up, crossing her feet over one another to speed into one last spin. Snowflakes hit her face with more force, but they were less irritating once she had folded her body into a perfect one legged sit spin, her right leg extended in front of her, the world blurring once more.  
She slowed and rose to a standing posture again, but didn’t raise her arms in triumph. There was nobody there; no Robb and Bran earnestly cheering her on, no Rickon begging her to teach him to do that, no quietly impressed Jon, not even Arya scoffing at her figure skating. Just her, by herself, in the middle of a frozen lake, skating back to a house empty but for her forever mourning mother and dusty family photographs. 

Arya’s plane landed that night, though, so eager to get out of the house, Sam offered to drive to the airport to pick her up. It was dark and snowing, but far from the worst weather Sam had driven through. Christmas music was playing on the radio and she hummed along, drumming her wolf-patterned mittens against the steering wheel. She decided that she would never be the first one to come home for Christmas again. The two days she’d spent at home since flying home from King’s Landing had been grim, trying to spend time with her mother while the cloud of her mother’s grief hovered wherever she stood. Catelyn was a saint, she thought, finally alone in that big house now that Rickon had moved out. He visited home often, driving in from the city most weekends, and so did Bran, and Arya had tried to transfer to a uni up North so she could be closer, but Catelyn had forbidden it. Living in Braavos was Arya’s dream, she had said, and it would break her heart if she gave it up because of her.  
The city and adjoining airport were a thirty minute drive from home, and Sansa was starting to see lights from the airport through the tips of the trees. Her phone lit up on the passenger seat, and she spared a glance at it. A text from Arya read ‘landed :)’ for a moment before the screen went dark again. Sansa smiled and turned up the music.  
Pulled up next to the airport door for international arrivals, she called Arya. “I’m outside the uh- like pickup door.”  
“I know where it is.”  
“Perfect! I see you!” Sansa hung up quickly and threw her phone in the back seat while Arya threw open the glass airport doors just ahead of where Sansa was parked. Her hiking backpack bounced up and down as she ran towards the car and she threw it into the backseat once she wrenched open the passenger door and attacked Sansa with a massive hug.  
“Sansa!” she buried her face in her shoulder.  
“You’re freezing- oh my God, Arya,” Sansa laughed. Arya backed down.  
“Turn on the heat then,” she grinned and turned up the radio and Sansa started the car. “Fuck, I forgot what real cold feels like.”  
“Welcome home, how’s senior year?” Sansa asked.  
“Oh it’s good, the profs all know me now and don’t mind when I miss class so that’s nice.”  
“Arya- “  
“Weekday mornings are the only times you can go hiking without the trails being full! Plus my marks are like, perfect.”  
“Alright, alright.”  
“What about you, how’s museum curating?”  
“I’m not a curator, I’m a guide, and it’s fun. The kids are cute and the old couples are adorable.”  
“That’s good.”  
“Yeah.”  
“How’s Mom?”  
Sansa frowned. “She’s doing well in that she’s healthy, physically I guess. She’s eating well and meeting up with her society friends and going for lots of walks.”  
“But…”  
“But she’s so sad, Arya. And I know she always will be, I always will be to some degree, we all will, but I don’t think she can find joy in anything. It breaks my heart.”  
“I knew it, I should have stayed home- “  
“No, you shouldn’t have. She wants you to be in Braavos, she has Bran and Rickon and her friends. I’ve been here and I don’t think it’s made a difference.”  
“Have you seen Bran and Rickon since you got here?”  
“No, Bran is in a really intense placement at the hospital and he’s working all these twelve hour shifts until Christmas Eve, and Rickon’s classes don’t end until tomorrow.”  
“So will he come home tomorrow?”  
“I think so. Mom got me to help her get his old room ready, after yours, so.”  
“Is the lake frozen?” Arya asked.  
Sansa was glad for the change to a lighter topic. “Duh,” she grinned.  
“Yes, we’re playing shinny first thing tomorrow,” Arya exclaimed.  
Sansa groaned theatrically. “Fine, but you’ll definitely win.”  
“I know.”  
The drive home went by twice as fast as the drive to the airport had. 

Sansa was woken at seven the next morning to her sister attempting a cannonball onto her bed. She yelped in shock and Arya broke into peals of laughter. “You can’t do that anymore! You’re not ten!” Sansa cried.  
“I stopped growing when I was ten, I think I can.”  
“That’s not true, you were like eighteen.”  
“No I wasn’t.”  
“Yes you were.”  
“I wasn’t but anyway let’s go play shinny, put your coat on!”  
“Are you ten or twenty-two?” said Sansa, already sitting on the side of her bed and pulling on her socks. Satisfied that she would follow, Arya darted out of the room and the sound of her feet sprinting down the stairs echoed through the hall.  
Sansa followed in time, still pulling her turtleneck over her head as she walked down the stairs, slowly and sleepily. Her gaze was caught by a mirror to her left. She didn’t remember that being there. She looked at it head on and realised she was right, it hadn’t been there before because it wasn’t a mirror; it was a framed photograph, part of the collage of photographs that spread across the entire wall. The photo showed her mother, standing in her own white knit sweater on the front porch of the house, a newborn baby in her arms and a grinning toddler beside her, one hand reached up and gently touching the baby’s fuzzy head.  
Catelyn must have been in her early twenties, so the baby had to be Sansa, and the toddler- she turned away and hurried down the stairs like Arya had; ran down to the lake with her skates slung over her shoulder as fast as she could. While they played, Arya groaning in exasperation each time Sansa let her slip past her easily, she thought about the photo. She’d been told a million times how much she resembled her mother, but she’d never truly seen it. The hair, eyes, fine features, willowy physique, she all understood were similar, but when she looked at her mother she’d never seen herself until then.  
They returned inside after an hour, when Sansa insisted she was too exhausted to continue. After dropping her coat, hat, mittens, and skates just inside the door, Arya made right for the fridge. Sansa made coffee for two, then sat at the counter sipping hers (black, no sugar), watching as Arya prepared an enormous omelette.  
“Should I make extra for Mom?”  
“That looks like enough for you and Mom, with extra to spare.”  
“Fair point.” Arya flipped the omelette successfully, then turned back to Sansa. “Let’s go pick up Rickon from school this afternoon. We can head out to the city early and go Christmas shopping before his classes end.”  
“It’ll be crazy at the shops.”  
“Who cares? More time for us to catch up,” Arya grinned.  
“Alright. What do you still need to get?”  
“Stuff for Mom and Bran. I’m also open to suggestions.”  
“Maybe some tea for Mom? She loves her tea. What did you get me?”  
“Nice try. Omelette?” Arya had finally finished cooking, and lifted the frying pan, angling it so Sansa could see.  
“No thanks, but I’ll bring a plate with some up to Mom.”  
She walked up the stairs, carefully balancing a breakfast tray she’d found, holding a cup of tea, a tiny jug of milk, cutlery, and a plate with half the omelette and two peeled clementines. She spared a glance at the photo that had caught her attention again, and when she walked into her mother’s room she took a long look at her face.  
“Good morning, Mum, Arya made breakfast,” she said cheerily, placing the tray carefully onto her mother’s bedside table.  
“Oh Sansa, you’re an angel,” Catelyn said, sitting up in her king sized bed. Sansa saw herself in everything about her, all of a sudden. The way she moved, spoke, looked.  
“Thank Arya.”  
“I will,” Catelyn smiled up at her. “Do you girls have any big plans for today?”  
“Some shopping, and we’re going to pick up Rickon.”  
“Lovely,” Catelyn picked up the tray and set it on her lap. “Any requests for supper?”  
“I have none, you should ask Arya though, she’s always ravenous.”  
“That she is,” Catelyn laughed. “I’ll be down in a moment, don’t mind my lazy old self.”  
“Don’t call yourself old, Mum.”  
“You’re sweet darling but it’s the truth.”  
Sansa rolled her eyes to stop herself crying. 

Arya played with the controls on the radio while they drove into Wintertown. The last night’s snow had been plowed, piled in massive drifts on either side of the highway.  
“Where’s Jon spending Christmas this year?” Sansa asked.  
“He’s working, I think. He told me he was visiting Satin’s parents, though, so that must be like, at some point before or after the actual date.”  
“They’re in, where?”  
“I think it might actually just be his mom, but she’s in Oldtown.”  
“Oh, that’s such a lovely town,” Sansa said, dwelling fondly on memories of the semester of her undergrad she’d spent there.  
Arya finally settled on a station. Pop Christmas carols.  
“I wish you would go back to the choral station.”  
“I’m sorry, Sansa, but you’re literally the only person under sixty who likes that church-y stuff.”  
“That’s not true.”  
“It actually is and God himself told me.”  
Sansa rolled her eyes. “Have you seen them recently?”  
“Jon and Satin? Yeah, they spent a week in Braavos in the summer, I thought I sent you pictures. We all- them, me, and Gendry- all went diving.”  
“Twenty-eight year old Gendry?”  
Arya rolled her eyes. “Yes, twenty-eight year old Gendry. Have you seen Jon and Satin recently?”  
“No.”  
Sansa was sure Jon had been in King’s Landing in the past year, and she probably could have gotten in touch to see him, but she’d always had an easier time talking to Ygritte or Satin or Sam than she did talking to Jon himself. They’d never been close in a friendly way, only in the family way, and she hadn’t minded. It had always been Jon-and-Arya, Bran-and-Rickon, and Sansa-and-  
“Can we stop to get coffee before we hit the city?” Arya asked.  
“Obviously,” Sansa said. “Have I ever not gotten coffee before we hit the city?”  
“Not that I recall.”

Sansa carefully parked on the side of a city street under a streetlight from which hung a massive Christmas wreath. They stepped out of the car, Sansa on her third black coffee of the day and Arya sipping from some sort of eggnog and hot chocolate and gingerbread and espresso concoction. The sidewalks were buzzing with an energy far quieter than that she was used to in the capital. It felt gentler in Wintertown, less like you could get lost in a moment and more like you’d run into an old friend.  
“I’m going to stop at the outdoors gear place, meet you at uh- that bookstore you like in a few?” Arya said. Sansa nodded, and continued her walk. Like at home, it was cold in the pleasant way, the sort of cold that her long coat could keep out, but that still made her senses feel sharp and alive. She ducked into a liquor store off the main drag and untied her scarf, letting it hang loosely over her shoulders. She picked out two bottles of wine and stepped into the walk-in fridge at the back of the store to pick out some beer.  
“Can I help you?” a voice came from behind her.  
“No thanks,” she turned to smile at the employee. “I’m g-”  
She registered the dark haired man’s look of panic before she fully recognized him, but both happened quickly. “I’m so sorry, I’ll leave you alone,” he stammered, turning to go.  
“No,” the word left her lips without her meaning it to. “I mean, Theon- what are you doing here?”  
“I work here,” he muttered.  
“I mean in Wintertown, in the North at all, you idiot, what-”  
“Run of b- bad luck?” he offered, a shallow masquerade of his old mocking smile on his now sallow face.  
“No,” she said again. “That’s not good enough!” she all but shouted, all of a sudden taken over by some petulant teenaged version of herself.  
“Can I help you here?” another employee walked into the fridge, confused. She turned to Theon. “You alright?”  
He nodded. “Yeah Brit, no worries.” The girl nodded once, still looking baffled, and left.  
“After I quit my job here, I went back to the islands. Crashed with my s- sister for a bit, looked for work a year or so, then w- worked at the family business. I hated that so I quit after a year and then, I guess I went b- back to the only other place I know.”  
“You don’t- you didn’t have anyone, anyone left here, Theon.”  
“I know.” He laughed, miserable.  
Sansa had never known what the fight had been about, the awful, sprawling one that had left Robb with a black eye and a broken heart, and had made Theon move out of their shared apartment, had made him leave the entire region. She had expected Robb to tell her, in time, like he always did with those sorts of things. She’d given him space, not pushed it, and then she got the visit from the police, telling her he was dead, along with their father.  
“Can we- can we get out of th- th- this fridge, it’s so cold,” he said.  
She laughed without humour. “Yeah, ring up my stuff, I’m getting out of here.”  
He did silently, looking down the whole time, even once he handed her the paper bag containing the two bottles. At least he had the decency to seem ashamed, she thought as she turned to go.  
“Sansa,” he said, just a bit too loud.  
She whirled around, now more angry than confused. “What.”  
“I didn’t hit him.” He looked straight at her now.  
“What are you talking about?”  
“Robb. He had a black eye- I didn’t g- g- give it to him- I didn’t hit him, I would nev-”  
“Then how did he get it?” she demanded.  
He fell silent.  
“You fucking liar. I should have called the-”  
“Sansa, I swear. I can’t tell- I’m n- not a good guy, you know that. I- I- I- I’m not trying to defend myself. I just want you to know I d- d- didn’t do that.”  
She decided to let him have the last word. She almost ran out the store, and didn’t mention the encounter to Arya when they met up at the bookstore. 

It was Christmas Eve, and Sansa was at home when she let herself think about the incident. Bran, Rickon, and Arya were playing a board game, Sansa and Catelyn curled up on couches with their hot drinks and books. Snow was falling in the dark outside and the lights of the Christmas tree reflected in the living room’s huge bay window. Sansa had always assumed they’d had some banal dispute, Theon brought home a girl at two in the morning one too many times, he’d gotten drunk and puked in Robb’s office, Robb played his music too loud, the argument escalated over years of petty annoyances and Theon slugged him in the face. Maybe he’d even been drunk. Now she finally let the doubts she’d never entertained surface in her mind. Theon was skinny, always had been, far from Robb’s broad rugby frame, and it was hard to believe he could have done that much damage, even catching him unawares. What else could have happened, though?  
She watched her siblings at their board game, recalling the countless times Theon had come over to play Monopoly with them before. He’d even spent Christmas with them a few times, played shinny with Robb, Jon, and Arya, whooped at Sansa’s figure skating performances, built snow forts with Bran and Rickon. Jon and Arya had been the coldest to him, but Bran and Rickon had hero worshipped him, and Sansa had never seen Robb look as happy as he did when he was with him.  
Christmas came with only a few tears, as it had for the past five years. Everyone seemed to like the gifts Sansa had picked out: Bran a book of medieval anatomical drawings she’d found at a used bookstore next to the museum where she worked, Arya an antique book of maps from the same spot, their mother a silk scarf and perfume from a designer store in King’s Landing, and Rickon several rolls of film for his camera. Bran read the story of the Nativity from the family Bible, and Sansa followed Catelyn into the kitchen to comfort her; the reading had always been Robb’s job. Arya handed out the gifts, and Sansa kept her hand on her mother’s back when she saw her eyes get misty; that had always been Ned’s job.  
“Oh my God, Sansa, this is crazy! Thank you so much,” Bran exclaimed, his eyes glued to the pages of his new book.  
“You’re welcome.” Sansa smiled at him, her hands curled around her hot cup of black coffee.  
“Look at this, Rickon,” Bran called him over, and Rickon dutifully looked at the page where he was pointing.  
“Gross! That’s awesome!”  
“Boys,” Catelyn muttered to Sansa. Sansa laughed.  
“Yep.”  
The turkey was in the oven and the Christmas morning high had worn off. Bran was settled on the couch with a book, Catelyn next to him, reading a book of her own. Arya and Rickon had fled the house, either to play shinny or smoke pot in the woods, probably both. Sansa went for a walk.  
Winterfell Drive didn’t have a sidewalk, but there was little enough traffic and a slow enough limit to walk safely. On Christmas day the road was empty, and Sansa walked in its centre, balancing on the yellow line in her white winter boots. She recalled previous walks, and previous Christmases. The summer before Robb had graduated high school they’d often snuck out at night together. On occasion Robb would head to a party on his own but only after he made sure Sansa was safe at home. They’d swum in the lake and laid down in the centre of the road, staring at the starry night sky. Theon had been there more often than not, whether because he was sleeping over that night (he did most nights) or because he was picking Robb up for a party, and he usually brought cigarettes, which he and Robb smoked, but Sansa didn’t.  
Theon had been there for many Christmases, as well. When Sansa called to her mind the idea of ‘Christmas’, there always was Theon, trying to make Robb laugh at Midnight Mass, sneaking pieces of turkey to Grey Wind, and apologizing to Catelyn once he was found out. He was usually the one instigating “walks” with Arya, Bran, and Rickon, when they would all disappear to the backyard and return smelling faintly of pot an hour later.  
And he was alive. It was odd that it should occur to her only then, after she’d had a conversation with him, but so it goes. Something she’d lost was in her grasp, and she could go find him, if only to get some sort of closure.  
“Mum, do you mind if I take the car out for a super quick convenience store run?” Sansa asked.  
Catelyn looked up from her novel. “Of course not, supper will be ready in three hours or so, though.”  
“Of course. Thanks Mum.”  
She raced out of the house and was on the highway in a blur. The sun was high in the sky and reflected off the snow so brightly it nearly hurt her eyes. The highway was nearly empty, no sound but the car engine and the choral music on the radio. In the bleak midwinter frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, water as a stone. Sansa hummed along quietly, recalling singing in the church choir when she still lived at home. She’d had a good voice, Robb had always said she sounded like an angel. She didn’t sing much anymore.  
The city was still when she arrived. Snow iced the roofs of all the buildings on main street, and frost made the wreaths on every lamppost sparkle. She passed a couple walking down the sidewalk, the girl skipping, the guy laughing as he tried to keep up. Nearly every shop was closed, and suddenly Sansa’s heart sank. The liquor shop would be closed, wouldn’t it? She’d come all this way for nothing, squandered precious minutes of her too short visit home.  
She parked right away, the street was empty so she needed no time to find a spot. She walked down the centre of the plowed mainstreet, her long blue dress and matching coat swaying ever so slightly. A ribbon of snow like dust danced in a spiral towards her, looped around her feet and dissipated. She smiled despite her frustration, again reminded why she loved coming home.  
Then she heard, for the second time in a week, “Sansa?”  
She realized she’d walked past the liquor store without realizing it, and when she turned back towards it he was standing in the open door, smoke rising from his lips. From afar he could have been five years younger.  
“Theon!” she said, and began to run. She hit his chest with the weight of her whole body, and his arms wrapped around her on instinct. She pressed herself against him for a moment and stepped back. “Come to the house for dinner,” she said breathlessly, her hands squeezing his shoulders through the leather jacket and thin tee shirt he wore. No wonder he was shivering.  
“What?”  
“Come to the house for turkey, have dinner with us. Bran and Rickon and Arya are home. Mom’s cooking. It’ll be like old times.”  
Sansa watched her words freeze in the air in front of her face as she thought about what she was saying. When she saw the tears in his eyes she wiped away her own.  
“You’re not- you believe me?” he said, incredulous.  
“Against my better judgement,” she said. “Can you-” she dropped her hands and clasped them in front of her, fiddling with a silver bracelet she wore on one wrist. “Can you tell me what happened?”  
“Of course, can we- can we get out of the cold first?” he asked.  
Sansa nodded and followed him back into the liquor store, which was empty. It struck her that he’d never stuttered when she knew him. He was always bold and confident and meant what he said, even when it was stupid.  
He sat down on the floor, leaning against the fridge door. “Robb had s- something wrong with him, to make him p- put up with me for as long as he did. When we were roommates I- I- it was like a dream for a while, j- just the two of us in the city, doing whatever we wanted. We started fooling around with each other.”  
“When he was with Talisa?”  
He nodded. “He felt bad about it, but not enough to s- stop. I think he r- really loved her. He j- just needed, more than one person could ever give him.”  
“That’s no excuse.” Sansa frowned.  
“I guess. I think she knew. Anyway. Neither of us ever gave up our bad habits. I went out too late, hung around people I shouldn’t have. I could have g- gotten into- things could have been r- really bad if Robb hadn’t been looking out for me, even w- when it got him in bad spots too. One night he g- got between me and- and someone bad. He took a punch that was- that was meant for me. It was my fault. I’m sorr-”  
“It wasn’t your fault,” Sansa interrupted. “He’s just like that. He was just like that. He was a protector. You shouldn’t feel bad for that.”  
Theon breathed shakily. “Anyway. That’s what happened.”  
“Thanks for telling me.” Sansa stood up, and helped him up. She wanted to cry again. They hugged, clinging to each other for a moment. “I’m sorry for how I treated you. How we all treated you. It was vile. You miss him as much as I do, I should have been there for you.”  
“It’s okay, Sansa.”  
They went back home. Down the highway, down Winterfell drive, back to the house. The other reunions were smoothed over by Sansa’s glare at her mother and siblings, a glare that said he doesn’t have to explain anything. They had supper, Theon snuck pieces of turkey to Shaggydog, but didn’t follow Arya and Bran out to smoke. He drank mulled wine with Sansa by the fire and the tree in the living room, and they stayed up late together in Sansa’s room, after everyone else was asleep. Sansa made up another spare room for him, and said goodnight with a kiss to the cheek.  
“I’m going to stay a little while,” she whispered to him in the hall. “Let’s go skating tomorrow, and after that- anything you need. We have to catch up.”  
He nodded. It wasn’t like old times. It never could be, but they could build something new out of love and memory. “Goodnight.”  
“Goodnight. I-” she smiled. “I love you.”


End file.
